


Holiday

by whichclothes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My nekid numbers for this month at <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/"><b>nekid_spike</b></a>  gave me Wesley, seashells, movie set, blood-play. So, here we go. Set some time sorta late during AtS S5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm in the midst of posting _Scherehazade_. I know I'm running really late on a RL deadline. I know I'm in the middle of writing the _Hard-Bitten_ sequel. But my muse really liked my prompt and wouldn't leave me alone.

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[holiday](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/holiday), [spike/wesley](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/spike/wesley)  
  
---|---  
  
_**Holiday**_  
**Title:** Holiday (1/1)   
**Pairing:** Spike/Wesley   
**Rating:** R   
**Disclaimer: **I'm not Joss   
**Warnings:** m/m   
**Summary: **My nekid numbers for this month at [](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://community.livejournal.com/nekid_spike/)  gave me Wesley, seashells, movie set, blood-play. So, here we go. Set some time sorta late during AtS S5.   
**Author's Note:** I know I'm in the midst of posting _Scherehazade_. I know I'm running really late on a RL deadline. I know I'm in the middle of writing the _Hard-Bitten_ sequel. But my muse really liked my prompt and wouldn't leave me alone.

**HOLIDAY**

 

“Bloody hell, Percy! Watch where you’re going.” Spike stuck a bony elbow into his ribs, quite hard.

Wesley elbowed him back even harder, smiling slightly with satisfaction at the yelp this produced. “I’m not the one with the night vision, Spike. I suggest you watch where you’re going instead.”

Spike swore but just then Wesley found the light switches and flicked them on, leaving the argument moot.

Leave it to Spike to find another right away.

“Christ! How the fuck are we supposed to find your bloody mojo thingabob in this sodding place, when you don’t even know what the thing looks like?”

Wesley clenched his jaw. Angel and Gunn were going to owe him a great deal after this evening. He didn’t care how important the legal matter was that engaged them, or how badly they’d wanted to get Spike out from underfoot. Surely they could have found some other way to keep the little nuisance busy other than foisting him off on Wesley. But Wesley didn’t say any of this. Instead, quietly and calmly, he said, “I realize it’s a rather large space. But the item will be somewhere on the set itself. It has to be, to have any effect on the viewers when they watch the film.”

Spike muttered darkly at him but Wesley ignored him and strode to the center of the enormous room. A slightly raised island had been created there, perhaps fifteen meters wide and five meters deep. Behind it was an enormous blue screen, and above hung an assortment of microphones, ropes, and lights. The surface of the stage was thickly buried in sand. Assorted small objects were scattered on the faux beach: a pair of sandals, a garish towel, a bottle of sunscreen, a paperback book opened with its pages down, a large red picnic cooler, an inflatable ball, and dozens seashells of varying shapes and sizes. If his informant was correct, one of these things was the item he’d come for.

He started to climb up onto the set, but then thought better of it. Instead, he bent and untied his shoes, then removed them and his socks before rolling up his trouser legs slightly. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw the vampire moving about, curiously picking things up and then setting them down again.

As Wesley hoisted himself onto the stage,  he saw Spike poking at one of the cameras. “Don’t damage that!” Wesley warned. “They’re not to know we were here, remember?”

 “But won’t the guards realize that they’ve been magicked into snoring their shifts away?”

“No, they won’t. They’ll have some clear but false memories of a completely ordinary evening.” He allowed a bit of pride to creep into his voice, because he was rather pleased with this particular enchantment. And if he felt some distaste about messing about with other people’s memories after what Angel had done to his, well, he could ignore that.

The sand felt pleasant between his toes, and he wondered for a moment when was the last time he’d been to the beach, taken an afternoon off simply to relax and watch the waves roll in. When he was a boy, he’d imagined that people in southern California spent all their time in the eternal sunshine, playing in the warm surf. But it turned out they went to work just like everybody else. They didn’t even film beach movies at a real beach, apparently.

He walked the length of the stage very slowly, casting his gaze about for anything that appeared suspicious, but nothing obvious caught his eyes. He was startled by a loud crash and looked up to see Spike standing somewhat sheepishly over an overturned piece of equipment.

“Spike!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Percy. It didn’t break.” Spike picked the thing up again—it was a cart of some kind—and put it very carefully next to a pair of chairs.

Wesley sighed. “Look. Why don’t you join me and see if you can help me find it so we can get out of here? They begin filming very early, and if the object is still here—“

“Yeah, yeah, apocalypse. I know,” interrupted Spike. But he kicked off his own boots and then jumped nimbly onto the stage.

Wesley didn’t bother to tell him it wasn’t quite as serious as all that. In reality, the object would simply make those who watched the film more suggestible, so that as soon as they left the theater, they’d run out to buy whatever products the producers had cleverly placed within the film—soft drinks and clothing and small electronics, most likely. Not exactly at the top of the scale, as far as evil went, but still slightly nefarious, and easily preventable if they removed the charm. If he and Angel had led Spike to believe the scheme was somewhat more dastardly than that, well, no true harm done.

So Spike dutifully, if slightly sullenly, peered down at the sand for a few minutes. But the vampire couldn’t stay quiet for long. “These studio buggers are demons, then?”

“Most entertainment corporations have a heavy demonic presence.”

“Well, that explains a lot. Miley Cyrus, for instance. Rob Schneider. Rush Limbaugh.”

“Fox News,” Wesley agreed absently, stooping to examine a small pebble he’d uncovered.

“American football,” said Spike, shuddering slightly.

“Reality programs.” He stood straight again. The pebble was just a pebble. He shuffled around silently for a time, hoping that the object would suddenly—magically, as it were—become apparent.

When he glanced up again, Spike was standing stock-still near the center of the stage, his face upraised to the bright lights and his eyes shut. He had an odd expression on his face.

“Spike?” Wesley said, moving to the vampire’s side as quickly as the deep sand permitted.

Spike started slightly and then shook himself. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Is something wrong?” Perhaps he’d sensed something—it was possible that demons were specially attuned to the charm.

“No, nothing. It’s only…felt almost real for a moment, didn’t it?”

Spike stood hunched in on himself, looking small and exposed, and Wesley felt a completely unexpected rush of compassion for the creature. He was all alone in the world, wasn’t he? Over a century banished from the sun, and with the burning weight of his soul and the looming shadow of his grandsire to contend with. The cloak of bravado he tried to wear to hide his vulnerability was actually quite transparent, and nobody truly appreciated—

That was quite enough of that. Wesley was here on a mission.

Wesley ignored the vampire and continued to trudge through the sand. His back was beginning to hurt from stooping. He’d injured it several months ago in a fight with some Niqliot and it hadn’t mended correctly. A sign of getting older, perhaps.

Perhaps five minutes later, he thought he saw something sparkle near the edge of the colorful towel. He steered in that direction, but—

“Ow!”

Spike had been hunched over the book. “Something bit you?”

“No,” Wesley replied shortly, and then sat in the sand to examine his foot. A very sharp shard of seashell was imbedded deeply in the thick flesh beneath his great toe. With a wince he yanked it out, and then watched a large bead of scarlet blood emerge.

Spike stepped to his side. His nostrils were flaring slightly and he bent to examine the injury. “What happened?”

“I trod on a sharp bit, that’s all.”

“Needs stitches,” Spike said, looking at the wound with what Wesley expected was a rather expert eye. “You’ll get blood all over their nice beach.”

Wesley sighed heavily. “Bring me my shoes, please.” At least he could bleed into one of them instead.

But Spike knelt beside him, snatched Wesley’s foot out of his hands, and popped the injured portion into his mouth. Wesley’s immediate impulse was to yank his appendage away, but Spike held him fast, and…oh. That felt rather nice.

Spike’s eyes sparkled at him. His full lips were pressed softly against Wesley’s skin, his cheekbones impossibly prominent as he sucked gently.

No! This was not what Wesley had meant at all. He was searching for a talisman and this was Spike, _Spike_ of all creatures! An irritating, formerly murderous vampire who was forever in the middle of things, blustering and smoking and…and resting his long, slender hand atop the hardening bulge at Wesley’s groin.

Wesley let out a long, deep breath.

For some inestimable time, all Wesley heard was Spike’s quiet suckling, the whisper of the oxygen in and out of their lungs, and his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Then Spike pulled his mouth away and it was painted crimson. He stuck out a long, sharp tongue and licked his wicked lips, and Wesley groaned.

Spike let Wesley’s foot drop. He pushed on Wesley’s shoulder and Wesley fell back into the sand, suddenly entirely devoid of strength. Spike chuckled, low and dirty, and straddled Wesley’s hips. He bent down, then, and draped himself over Wesley’s body until they were nose to nose, hip to hip. Spike’s bare toes worked their way under the rolled cuffs of Wesley’s trousers, scraping slightly against his shins.

“Ever seen _From Here to Eternity_?” Spike rumbled in his ear. He touched his lips just barely against the side of Wesley’s neck and hummed a tune Wesley didn’t recognize. The vampire was not very heavy, not really, and yet somehow his weight pinned Wesley in place. The only part that seemed able to move was his cock, pulsing and twitching under layers of cotton, under Spike’s equally hard cock.

“That’s Montogomery Clift, honey,” Spike sang against him.

Wesley hadn’t any idea what Spike was on about and couldn’t bring himself to care, not when cool breaths were ghosting over him, rippling the tiny hairs on his body. Not when blunt teeth were scraping above his carotid, and then, with the sound of crunching bone, turning sharp. So sharp he knew that if Spike wanted, he could sink his fangs into Wesley’s artery like a hot knife into butter, and Wesley would scarcely feel them. This was a horrible idea. He must tell Spike to stop at once. He must—

The prick of a fang just barely into his skin, the grinding of narrow hips into his. Wesley groaned. And then so did Spike, and Wesley felt the remains of his self-control—the leash he always kept so firmly attached to himself—slip away.  He managed to raise his arms and he worked them under the vampire’s leather duster and around Spike, planting his hands on the firm, denim-covered rounds of Spike’s arse and squeezing hard.

Spike wiggled a bit and lapped at the small wound he’d made. As Wesley writhed and swore underneath him, he scraped just the edge of his canine against the tender skin, again and again, each time sending a bolt of pure pleasure down Wesley’s spine and straight to his balls. Soon Wesley’s neck was covered in thin, raw scrapes, oozing tiny drops of fluid that Spike licked away before they could run onto the sand.

“Spike,” he managed, and his voice was unfamiliar to his own ears, hoarse and desperate.

“Hmmm?” the vampire purred. It made Wesley’s skin vibrate.

“If you don’t bite me I shall…I shall punish you.” He found himself slapping at Spike’s arse for emphasis.

Spike laughed and wiggled again. “Not much of a threat, there, Wes.”

Wesley tried to blink some clear thought into his head. “All right,” he said, finally. “A promise, then.” And he hit Spike again, quite hard.

Spike growled. Somehow the sound of it made Wesley’s vision gray, made him unable to do anything but bathe in the sensations of the hard flesh against him, the razor edge at his throat. So he slapped again, several times now, feeling the sting against his palm, the satisfying give of the muscles beneath his hand.

Spike began rising up to meet his strikes, then pressing down hard enough it hurt a bit. He made a keening, mewling sound and struck, his fangs sinking deeply into Wesley’s neck.

Wesley howled and came and came, so long and so hard he lost all sense of himself, all sense of his own thrashing body. Dimly, some part of him wondered whether Spike would kill him. Most of him couldn’t manage to care.

Spike didn’t kill him. He carefully removed his fangs, and he shifted his face back to human, then licked tenderly at the wounds he’d made. Wesley shivered helplessly at the feel of it, still unable to think coherently.

Slowly, Spike peeled himself away, until he was once again kneeling at Wesley’s side. Wesley was immensely satisfied to see that the vampire was panting rapidly, and that he had a wet stain at his crotch that mirrored the one on Wes.

“Bloody brilliant, Wes,” he said, curling his tongue behind his teeth.

Wesley murmured his agreement and, shakily, managed to make his way to his feet. He held out a hand to Spike, who took it. Wes helped Spike stand, too. They stood side by side for several minutes, sometimes briefly catching one another’s eyes, trying to get themselves together. They both untucked their shirts, allowing the hems to hide the wet patches, and Spike walked around and brushed the sand off of Wesley’s back. Eventually, Spike fumbled in his duster and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one of them out and replaced the pack. More fumbling, this time in his tight front trousers pocket—and Wesley couldn’t help but watch—and he produced a lighter. He flicked on the flame and took a long draw from the cigarette, then exhaled upwards. The smoke roiled lazily in the bright lights. Wesley rather wished he smoked as well.

“Well,” he said, attempting and failing to sound businesslike. “We need to find the object before the crew arrives.”

Spike smirked. “You mean this?” he asked. He stuck his hand into the duster again, and came out with a bleached scallop shell about half the size of his palm. Wesley snatched it from him and instantly felt the tingle in his fingers that meant magic.

“How did you—“ he sputtered.

Spike shrugged. “Found it almost right off. It smells funny.”

Wesley wanted to be angry, he truly did. But he could still nearly feel Spike on him, under his hands, in his neck. And the vampire was standing there, small and cocky, his head tilted a bit and his lips slightly curled. “Why didn’t you say something?” Wesley asked quietly.

“Wanted a bit of time to enjoy our holiday at the beach,” replied Spike. He was suddenly tense, clearly prepared to be on the defensive.

But Wesley smiled at him. “Thank you for…your assistance.”

Spike relaxed and grinned back at him. “My pleasure.”

Wesley stuffed the shell in his breast pocket and hopped down from the stage, noticing only as he was pulling on his sock that his foot no longer hurt at all. The cut from the shell was merely a small, bloodless incision. It already appeared to be healing. Wesley laced up his shoes and then watched as Spike thrust his feet into his worn Docs. Together they walked to the exit. Wesley remembered to switch off the lights.

In the darkness, they slipped out the door and into the star-speckled night.

Next time he had a mission, Wesley thought, he would specifically request that Spike accompany him.

 

_~~~fin~~~_

 

AN: Spike was singing The Clash’s song, “The Right Profile.”  


End file.
